


bond-drunk

by sanerontheinside



Series: Prompts Tumbl'd [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Inspired By, M/M, imaginarykat, wicked thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: Anakin lets himself fantasize a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [wicked thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261721) by [imaginarykat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarykat/pseuds/imaginarykat). 



Much as Anakin tried, he couldn’t stop his mind circling back to the two tens he’d spent on Mustafar with Ventress and Kenobi. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to remember those golden glowing eyes. Kenobi was a Sith and he had broken his word, and as far as Anakin was concerned, that was all he needed to know. 

But more than anything else what drew his thoughts back to Mustafar was that he felt cold. He felt cold everywhere and all the time, like he had when he was a Padawan. It now occurred to him that perhaps he’d forgotten - that he’d just gotten used to the idea that he’d never be warm again - until he found himself there. 

But he’d been to warm planets before, it wasn’t just that. Much as he tried to ignore it, the real temptation of Mustafar, the reason that planet called him back even now, was the promise of feeling warmth both inside and out. That intoxicating, addicting warmth thrumming through the bond he had with Kenobi  - _that_ was what pulled at him. He did everything he could think of, wrought complicated shields around that part of his mind where the bond had taken root. But shielding his feelings had never really been his strong suit, and shielding himself from his desires had never seemed so pointless. 

Not when he was sitting here, three glasses deep in Alderaanian brandy and wishing he’d picked something a little more potent, and starting to feel the smooth liquor-made warmth in his fingers. Then again, he thought, checking on the rest of his body, maybe it was one of those sneaky liquors that had got you long before you knew it. 

Because now he couldn’t help thinking of Kenobi’s golden eyes, of the way his voice, warm and playful, sent heat curling through him. He couldn’t help thinking of that practice room, the black stone that reflected Mustafar’s fires in it and felt as warm as stone shouldn’t. He could help thinking that that voice would send him to his knees. 

That Kenobi would promise to teach him, promise to give him the world, and he might actually allow himself to want it. Might actually believe it when Kenobi told him he’d done very well, that he was _perfect._  

Hell, he let his mind go then. Let himself imagine what it might be like, to be pressed back into the warm and smooth black stone, to have Kenobi’s hands run over every inch of him. To strip him slowly of those soft dark robes, and run calloused fingers over his skin. To kiss every sensitive spot no one else had ever teased out. To call him _his apprentice_ in that delicious purr, and to laugh in delight when Anakin didn’t hesitate to call Kenobi his Master. 

They’d already had this once, but Anakin had been drunk and hadn’t even thought it was real. He’d brought a _Sith Lord_ into the Temple - back to his quarters - how could _that_ be real? He wondered just how long he could stay awake if he were sober. Would he see a look of broken pleasure on his Master’s face, or only hunger? Would he watch those beautiful golden eyes slip shut in utter bliss, as Kenobi rested against him, breath even and slow? He’d like to see that, Anakin realised. He didn’t remember being awake long enough to see it last time. 

It is a good thing, Anakin thinks the next day, that he brought the brandy back to his quarters. He’d fallen asleep sprawled across his chair and woken up feeling like a speeder-wreck. No stray Sith Lords for him to take back to the Temple if he’s already _in_ the Temple. (He steadfastly ignored the bond, which flooded with a sudden surge of warmth and gentle amusement - or at least he would ignore it, but gods, it’s far too _good._ )

 


End file.
